


One Hundred and Then one

by clockwork_raptorbot



Category: 101 Dalmatians (1961)
Genre: Absurd, Complete, Cute, Domestic Fluff, F/M, Mild Sexual Content, Pegging, Roger is bisexual, Were-Creatures, lots of good dogs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-01
Updated: 2019-01-01
Packaged: 2019-10-01 20:44:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,931
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17251100
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clockwork_raptorbot/pseuds/clockwork_raptorbot
Summary: Roger and Anita move to the country side, where they get an unexpected revelation. Considering the recent adoption of an additional eighty-four Dalmatian puppies, one of them was bound to be were'd.





	One Hundred and Then one

"I say," Roger remarked, his arm around Anita's waist as the two of them gazed at the arched gates of their new home. "I'll have room for two studios here! And we can make you an art gallery."

Anita laughed. "Nanny will be glad to have her own suite. Why, each of the puppies might have their own room!"

The estate spread out in rolling acres, full of budding trees, winding streams, grass and open fields aplenty. Multiple outbuildings ringed the grand mansion itself. Enough space for everyone, Roger thought. 

Roger and Anita, along with Nanny and all one hundred and one Dalmatians, arrived in the new estate in April, just as the snows began to melt and the English countryside reasserted its uneven hills and trees, grass and brooks, winding roads and old wooden fences.

"We should celebrate," Anita said, running her hand up Roger's arm. "Properly." 

Roger flushed, puffing on his pipe as heat ran down his belly and legs. Before they were married, Roger had thought Anita a modest and mellow woman—of course, she had a sparkling wit and charming laugh, her artwork was full of masterful designs, and she was the kindest soul he knew. She could make him laugh and make him think and she shared his passions for jazzy music and long walks in the park. But once they'd said their vows, he saw a different, wilder side to Anita in the bedroom. He liked it—not that he'd had, one could say, a great deal of practice with women. In his college days, he'd had precisely two flings, both awkward, and then found other men much easier to get off a quick tumble with until graduation and his move to London. 

"Roger darling," Anita said, poking a gloved finger under his ear. 

He startled and fumbled his pipe, then coughed and composed himself. "Yes, dear?"

"Composing a new song?" she asked, her eyes glinting as if she knew exactly where his thoughts had been...and not precisely on a swinging tune.

"I have some melody ideas," he said. Beside him, Pongo barked. Roger patted his dog and rolled his shoulders. "Well, shall we?"

"Let's," Anita said. She took his arm, and as the movers swung open the gates, Pongo and Perdita and their ninety-nine children raced into their new home. 

Roger laughed as the spotted hurricane of puppies whirled around his legs and into the wide courtyard and drive. Counting them had become a habit in the last few months. They were growing, all of them, and the move to the country couldn't have come at a better time. There had been no room to even walk in their old apartment, and he and Anita had been given no privacy. He was ready for a room of their own, where they could lock out the curious dogs—both for a good night's sleep and other pleasures.

"Ninety-seven, ninety-eight..." Roger furrowed his brow. "I say, where's the last one?"

Anita and Roger glanced around. Roger spotted the little rascal part-way up the road, which was dry enough not to have been turned into a quagmire with four-hundred-plus paws churning up mud. It was Moody. One of the adopted pet-store puppies, Roger had named him for the black patches of fur over each eye that gave him a perpetual dour look. 

"C'mon, old boy," Roger called, snapping his fingers. "You'll miss all the exploring fun!"

Moody sat hunched with his back to the humans, tail tucked, head lowered and ears flattened against the skull. He let out a little huff of breath and didn't move.

Anita laughed and kissed Roger's cheek. "I'll help Nanny unpack our things."

"Right then," Roger said, watching his wife sashay up the drive towards the mansion. He tapped his pipe and sighed, adjusting his trousers and hitching up his belt. Christening the new bedroom would have to wait, it seemed. 

He trudged back and crouched down by Moody. "What's the matter, fella?"

The puppy—in that awkward stage of growth between adorable, rolly-polly infancy and the lanky body of an adult Dalmatian—huffed again and then flopped over onto his side in dramatic despair.

"It's not that bad," Roger said, patting Moody's head. "You'll love the country! Just think, you can see the moon and the stars properly from the yard!" It had been a nearly full moon last night, according to the papers, but Roger had been cramped into the moving van with several puppies in his lap on the drive out of the city. "No need to worry about the city lights now, eh?"

The pup moaned and covered his muzzle with one paw. If Roger hadn't been certain this pup was one of the eighty-four adopted from that witch's grasp, he'd have sworn it was Pongo's offspring for the dramatics. Roger shook his head, scooped Moody up in his arms, and strode into the Dalmatian Plantation. Moody sulked the entire way.

#

Much to Roger's frustration, he was too tired by the time he and Anita and Nanny, plus the hired movers, have finished unpacking the trucks and arranging furniture in the new house. He flopped on the couch, dozens of sleepy Dalmatian puppies sprawled on the rugs around him. The TV was on, and of course Lucky was standing up to block the screen while the Kanine Krunchies advertisement played. Most of the rooms were empty, but with the royalties from his smashing success of "Cruella De Vil" song, Roger and Anita would have plenty of time and money to browse catalogues and order what they wanted in the months to come. 

Unfortunately, the bed frame had been cracked in transit, and had to be left unassembled, the mattress propped up against a wall. Anita took the blankets and made a nest where she draped herself and was soon asleep, with Perdita and a dozen puppies curled up around her.

"All here," Nanny said in her cheerful voice, pouring Roger a cup of tea while expertly stepping around all the white and black dogs littering the floor. "Bless their little spots!"

"Thanks," Roger said, shifting his feet so Nanny could perch on the arm of the couch. "Would you be a dear and call the veterinarian Anita's aunt recommended? We'll have a busy spring getting them all up to date on their shots."

"Oh, of course," Nanny said. Then she flung a hand to her forehead, kerchief fluttering. "But the phone line hasn't been hooked up properly yet. I will have the drivers take a telegram into town! They were just finishing up some biscuits and tea last I saw!" And she bustled off, cooing at the puppies as she passed.

Roger sighed. He set his tea cup on the couch arm and stretched. He needed to use the loo. With Anita asleep, he might as well have another pipe and get some work done on his next song while he was up.

As Roger picked his way through the snoring puppies, he tapped his fingers against his thigh. The melody was there, but not quite whole: the outline of the music was just out of reach. He hummed a bar—da dum, dee dee, da dum da dum, dee—but it was missing _something_. A harmony? No, there was a piece of the structure of the song he wasn't seeing.

After he relieved himself, he kept humming and trying to work out the notes in his head. His music sheets and pens were packed in a box, but he'd placed it in his studio, claiming the room like a new explorer in uncharted terrain. Roger sauntered into the echoic chamber. His piano was being delivered tomorrow, as he'd not wanted to trust the furniture movers with it alongside everything else. But he had his horn, and the—

Roger tripped in the semi-darkness and yelped as he went sprawling. An answering yelp echoed in the room. "What!" Roger gasped, banging his elbow and rolling onto his back. He squinted. The large glass windows let in bright light from the April moon, highlighting his box of supplies and his favorite chair...and Moody, crouched by the cardboard box. The puppy's dark eyes stared at Roger with fervor. 

"You startled me," Roger laughed, picking up his pipe from where it'd fallen. He brushed tobacco ash from his sweater and rubbed his elbow. "What are you doing here all by yourself, eh?"

Moody whined and pawed at the box. Roger frowned. Now what could the dog want with his music? Yes, the puppies definitely enjoyed barking along when he sang. In fact, the radio had told him that "Spots All Around" was going to be aired next week, and everyone had high hopes for another success. 

Roger scooted over and took the box’s cover off, setting it aside. "You leave a present in there for me?" he asked, hoping that wasn't the case. The apartment's tiny back yard had been an olfactory nightmare the warmer the temperatures got. The neighbors complained and Roger had been obliged to hire a local boy to remove dog poo in wheel-barrels every day, for a not insignificant sum. 

Moody tapped his nose against the topmost sheet of paper, boop boop boop. Roger pushed his pipe to the corner of his mouth with his tongue and carefully nudged the puppy aside. "All right, no need to get in a fuss," he muttered. He removed the papers one at a time. These were all his blank sheets, with his pens tied in a neat bundle at the bottom. 

Moody watched, the little black spots around each eye crinkling in a grimace. There was nothing in the box. When Roger unwrapped his pens, Moody suddenly grabbed on in his jaws and bolted.

"Hey, bring that back!" Roger cried. He scrambled to his feet and nearly tripped again on his supplies. Cursing silently, he bolted after Moody. But it was no use. As soon as the puppy was out of the room, it was anyone's guess where the rascal had gone. Roger heaved a sigh. He supposed he could afford new pens, but he was more worried that Moody would swallow ink or the nib and hurt himself. 

Why on earth would the pup want to play with a pen, anyway? There were dozens of bones, toys, sticks and knotted rope chews scattered all over. Roger massaged his forehead. He boxed up his supplies again, tucked it under the chair so it wouldn't trip him or get knocked over, and decided to call it a day. He didn't fancy a late-night hunt for one of ninety-nine young dogs with a stolen pen. He'd just have to hope Moody didn't do anything rash.

#

"Roger, come see this."

He woke to Anita standing over him, her petite brows knitted in concern. 

"What is it?" Roger mumbled, sitting up and nearly dropping a puppy—Patch, as usual—who'd curled up on his chest while he slept. The young dog rolled onto the floor and yawned before scratching an ear and giving Roger a dirty look.

"I think someone broke into our home," Anita said in a whisper. She bit her lip. "But it's so odd..."

Roger was suddenly very awake, his heart pounding at the idea of burglars or dognappers again. "Are the puppies all right?"

"Yes, yes," Anita said, shushing him. It was not quite dawn. "Nanny took the new car out to town to fetch groceries, and as far as I can tell, all the dogs are okay." She took his hand and guided him out of the large living room and the waking canines. 

Roger wanted his pipe but didn't have time to find his matches or tobacco. He rubbed sleep from his eyes and followed his wife.

She led him back to his studio, where they both stopped in the door and stared.

There were uneven, awkwardly drawn words in pen all over the walls, none reaching over two feet high. Some of the words were nonsense, some half-finished, but the dozen or so Roger could make out were child-like in simplicity and creative spelling. 

**NOT DOGE HALP MOON FIR CONFUSD HALP WAT HAPEN 2 ME AHWOO**

There were smudged paw prints on the floor and part of the walls, too.

Roger's mouth dropped open. He was glad he hadn't grabbed his pipe. "I say," he breathed, boggled. 

"It's so strange!" Anita twined her arm around his. "What do you suppose it means? Who would write this? And why?"

Roger slapped a hand to his forehead in astonishment. "Anita darling, you aren't going to believe this, but I think I know who did it..."

#

Roger found Moody out by the front gate, nose resting between the wrought iron bars, staring wistfully back in the direction of the city. The puppy's mouth, paws, and front of his coat were smudged in pen ink.

"Moody?" Roger asked.

The Dalmatian whapped his tail half-heartedly on the ground but didn't look up.

Anita gave him a puzzled stare. 

Roger cleared his throat. "I say, Moody, did you...happen to write on the walls of my studio?"

Moody hunkered down and shyly looked over one shoulder, his tail tapping hesitantly. 

Anita clasped her hands over her mouth. "Oh my," she said at last. "But how?"

"Well, we've had enough miracles happen that I'm not surprised by much!" Roger said with forced cheer. Inwardly, he was reeling. A dog that could write in English? By George! And what did the messages mean?

"I think we better have a talk about this," Roger said, and snapped his fingers. "C'mon, boy. Let's get you cleaned up while we're at it."

Tail now tucked between his hind legs, head down in shame, Moody slunk after Roger and Anita as they went back inside.

#

Anita washed the ink from Moody's fur as Roger puffed on his pipe and stared at the walls. Pongo sat beside him, head tilted.

"What do you make of it, old boy?" Roger asked.

Pongo whined and slanted his head the other way, studying the words scrawled on the wallpaper.

"Me either," Roger said. 

Clearly, Moody needed something. And, well, Roger wasn't one to dismiss the intelligence of dogs. Pongo and Perdi had crossed great swaths of English countryside to rescue their children and made it back to London alive and disguised as Labradors. Surely a puppy who had rudimentary grasp of writing was not too extraordinary?

Freshly cleaned, Moody sat on Anita's lap as she studied the walls. 

"Roger," Anita said slowly. "Do you have another pen?"

"Of course. What are you thinking?"

"Well, dear, if Moody wrote this, we should see if he can do it again, shouldn't we?"

The pup's ears perked up. He sat straighter. 

Roger's eyebrows brushed his hairline. "Well I'll be," he said, shaking his head. He rummaged in the box and brought out his other pens. "Be careful with that," he said, and offered it to Moody. The puppy took the pen in his teeth and bounded towards an open stretch of wall.

"Wait!" Anita said. "Roger, give me some paper, please. Moody, come here."

Moody skidded to a stop halfway to the wall, ducking his head in embarrassment. Anita patted the floor in front of her, now strewn with fresh paper from Roger's collection.

"Here's what we'll do," Anita said, and Roger crouched beside her, puffing frantically on his pipe. 

"Moody, you understand us, right?"

The puppy bobbed his head, shaking the pen as he did so.

"Then we'll ask questions and you see if you can answer," Anita said.

"By George," Roger exclaimed. "That's brilliant."

Although it fit awkwardly in his mouth, Moody scrunched his muzzle in concentration as he moved his head and sketched blotchy letters onto paper as Anita spoke.

"Are you really a dog?"

 **NOT ALL?**

The question mark took Roger a moment to parse. He glanced at the walls again.

"Is this, erm, confusion recent?" Roger asked.

**YAS MOON**

"The moon," Roger said thoughtfully. "It's a full moon tonight, isn't it, dear?"

"I believe so," Anita said. "Is that what you want to tell us, Moody?"

The puppy nodded again, wagging his tail.

He wrote **BIG MOON** and then whined, lifting a paw and scratching at his ruff under the collar.

"Oh, Roger," Anita said, looking at him with wide eyes. "Do you think he's...a werewolf?"

Roger blinked several times. Pongo's mouth dropped open. Perdi licked Moody reassuringly. 

"In disguise? Like how Pongo snuck everyone back home as Labs?"

"Maybe," Anita said, chewing on her lower lip. "I've always loved studying that kind of mythology. I don't think Moody is a _wolf_ , per se..."

"But dogs are descended from wolves," Roger exclaimed. "It makes sense!"

"We don't know where most of the puppies Cruella bought came from," Anita pointed out. "It's possible Moody was a unique...find."

Pongo still looked stunned. Perdi kept grooming her child as if nothing had happened. 

"Pongo, you old rascal," Roger said, laughing. "I suppose we should see what happens tonight when the moon comes up, eh?"

Moody wagged his tail and barked, dropping the pen.

#

It was almost as stressful as the night the puppies were born. Roger puffed on his pipe, sitting in his armchair, while Pongo paced back and forth. Perdi and Anita sat on the couch Roger had moved here, holding each other nervously. And Moody, the star of the show, sat on a pile of blankets under the window while everyone waited and watched the moon rise.

Roger had never been one for the cinema, but Anita loved dragging him to the pictures, especially ones from Hollywood. When the feature _The Wolf-Man_ played the month before the puppies were born, he'd grumbled the whole taxi ride that it wasn't realistic for a man to turn into a wolf. Anita had only laughed and shushed him. Roger had to admit, the transformation was spooky. He'd had nightmares for a week after, in which his body sprouted all the hair and he tried to eat his wife...not in a mutually-pleasing way, either. 

Time crawled by, the ticking hands of the clock the only sounds. Outside the studio—whose doors Roger had locked so the rest of the puppies couldn't barge in, let alone Nanny, because she'd worried herself sick as it was—Roger heard the low whimpers and barks from the rest of the family. It was partially cloudy tonight, and Roger nervously glanced back and forth from the window to the clock.

What if nothing happened? Roger wasn't sure what to do with a puppy who wasn't quite a dog, but wasn't quite a human child, either. And here he'd had the gall to think the strangest part of his life was behind him when he and Anita bought the estate!

Moonlight washed into the room suddenly as the clouds blew away. Moody squirmed and yipped.

Roger stiffened and Pongo strained his neck forward without moving. Unlike in the cinema, the transformation was more of a blink-and-you-miss-it shift from dog to...well.

Where a half-grown Dalmatian puppy had been, now there was a pale-skinned, dark-haired child—naked like a newborn—with the loose collar and tags still around his neck. The room felt as still as a photograph. 

Roger dared not even breathe. 

Moody—would he need a new name now?—inhaled and then let out a howl. Roger jumped out of his seat.

When Moody wailed, and the sound slowly morphed into a child's giggle, Roger sputtered on his pipe and gasped. The missing notes! It was a vocalization that his song needed: and now he heard it, perfect and clear, as Moody laughed and laughed, a mix of barks and wordless chortle. Roger found himself chuckling, too, overwhelmed with delight. 

"Mama?" the boy said, looking at both Perdi and Anita. "Mama."

Anita gasped in delight. "Moody!"

Perdi barked, leaping up and wagging her tail.

"By George," Roger said, his thoughts all in a whirl. Pongo barked. Why, they were both going to be adopted fathers all over again! Roger cupped Pongo's face in both hands and his pet licked his face. "By George, Pongo, you old rascal!"

The child looked at Roger and Pongo and grinned. "Daddy and Daddy!"

Then Roger fainted.

#

Over the next few days, Nanny and Anita and Roger adapted to their adopted son, Maurey, who was currently a human boy perhaps of the equivalent of four or five years old. All the puppies loved him as a brother.

The mansion had enough room to give Maurey a place of his own, even if dozens of his puppy-siblings liked to sleep on the floor with him. Nanny bought him clothes and necessities, and Roger realized soon he would have to hire a tutor. And what to do when the moon became full once more? No one was certain if Maurey would become a Dalmatian again, or if one change was enough. They would all have to wait and see.

It was nearly a week before Roger and Anita's bedroom was at last assembled, the frame repaired, and all the dogs and now their son ushered to sleep after a busy day. 

Roger flopped onto the freshly made covers and sighed. "I didn't think we'd be human parents for a while yet," he said, as Anita began changing into her nightgown. 

She laughed. "Neither did I, darling."

She paused in buttoning up the back of her gown and gave him a smirk. "You know, Roger dear, we haven't had time to ourselves since before the move."

He folded his arms behind his head and waggled his eyebrows. He'd shucked off his pants but hadn't pulled on his night shirt yet. "It's been busy around here, hasn't it?"

Anita trailed her fingers down the neckline of her gown, tugging the fabric off her shoulders. "It's our anniversary of meeting next week."

Roger blinked. "Why, so it is!"

Anita laughed and leaned forward to kiss him. "We need to celebrate."

Roger nodded enthusiastically as she swung her legs over and pinned him down against the bed. "We've had quite the dog-gone year!"

Anita laughed again and then prevented him saying anything else as she kissed him. She had some ideas, too. Roger melted in her embrace. He loved the way she took control and pinned him down. Liked that particular, ahem, series of toys she'd hidden in a drawer. She'd even knitted a stylized woolen collar and leash to put on him. 

Dog owners as they both were, Roger especially liked when she decided to take the role of Pongo, with him on his hands and knees, so she could peg him. He moaned as she rocked back and forth behind him, driving him down onto his elbows as if he was about to play fetch. Anita panted and finally, so close to release, she let Roger howl.

#

As they lay sweaty and satisfied in their newly christened bed, Anita snuggled against Roger's side and sighed. "I'm still amazed by Maurey," she said.

Roger kissed her forehead. It would be an interesting future for them all.

"How did that even happen, I wonder?" Anita asked. 

Maurey had no idea, only that, upon the first full moon, just after Christmas, he'd begun to feel the dual pull of his nature. As a family, Roger decided, they would all find out what they needed to know, but most of all, Maurey was their son and always would be. 

"Well," Roger said with a sly grin. "With how many puppies we adopted, one of them was bound to be were'd."

**Author's Note:**

> Written for a friend in a private fic exchange! Thank you for reading. ^_^


End file.
